


Year 5

by unofficialsherlockian



Series: Sherlock at Hogwarts [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Potterlock, Slow Burn, Teenlock, building on the last 4 fics in this series, empty hearse elements, master blackmailer/milverton story elements, the return
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2018-02-20 03:09:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 16,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2412749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unofficialsherlockian/pseuds/unofficialsherlockian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock returns from his faked death just before he and John are due to start their fifth year at Hogwarts. John, now dating and having delt with most of his grief at Sherlock's death, isn't as pleased to see sherlock alive as Sherlock would've hoped. But with larger schemes afoot around Hogwarts and in the ministry itself, John will have to learn to trust Sherlock again as the two face yet another dangerous year.<br/>**HIATUS***</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> Check out the previous fics in the series if you haven't yet; leave a comment if you enjoy. :)

It was in a dark black forest that the sounds of running could probably be heard from many yards away that the footsteps were so frantic. But they weren't so terrifying as the sounds of panicked crying that escaped the running boy's lips as he gasped for oxygen, nor the loud angry shouts that followed him as he scampered through the dark.

A jet of red light hit the boy squarely in the back and he fell on his face with a cry of pain, curling into a ball and shivering slightly as five man surrounded him in a circle.

"You're not leaving us this time," one said nastily. The boy flinched at the voice and the other four chuckled slightly. "No more stupid escape attempts."

 

There were sounds of screaming that rang out across the underground tunnel system. The guards on either side of the door didn't even flinch at the sounds of torture, instead stood still, keeping watch. One smiled to the other as the word 'Crucio' was shouted again and the screaming intensified.

"I'll have your arms in next," the torturer said in anger, spitting on the boy's unkept head as the boy shivered, wrists chained to the wall so he couldn't wrap his arms around himself. He pointed his wand at the boy's left arm. 

"No no--" and suddenly the boy was a fit of whispers in Polish. The man listened intently, not even questioning how the boy knew of his cheating wife of her escapades with another man at the current time.

The torturer pockets his wand with a hurried "I'll be back for you," again in Polish and rushed out of the cell slamming the door behind you.

Sherlock slackened in his chains, breathing heavily and quickly, every inch of his body feeling like it was on fire within him. His breathing quickened until something cracked in his throat and he started to sob uncontrollably, shivering. 

"Well," he said, sniffling slightly, his head still facing down as he addressed the man in the corner of the room who'd watched the whole ordeal. "apparently I can be broken. What is it you people want from me?"

The man stood slowly, before walking over to face sherlock and roughly grabbing Sherlock by the hair, eliciting a whimper from the abused boy. 

Sherlock's non swollen eye found it's way up to his current abuser and he swore as he recognised the face that lay beneath the hood.

"I hate you," he spat, his breath catching and he coughed, choking, and wondering if his ribs were in worse condition than he'd figured. 

"Please, do not have another panic attack on our way out, Sherlock, it'll waste precious time. We have 6 and a half minutes to get out of this facility before some more people of our ministry come in and they will not see me or you here, do you understand?" Mycroft sighed, closing his eyes briefly before unlocking the cuffs on Sherlock's wrists. "I should have been here sooner." His voice was curiously tight.

"I hate you," Sherlock repeated, looking defiantly up into Mycroft's face until his wrists were released and he tried to support his weight on his legs as he stood and ended up falling to the floor slickened with his own bodily fluids. "I ...hate you..." he said weakly, and Mycroft took his arms and helped him to stand.

"Save that strength for getting out of here," Mycroft whispered roughly as they passed through the door. "When you're safe and back in Baker Street you can hate me all you want but for now let's make sure that's possible."

Two hours later Sherlock was pulling a shirt over his bruised and scarred body and turned to the knock at the door.

"I'm having an assistant of mine drop you off at Baker Street," Mycroft said softly. Sherlock closed the final few buttons of his shirt, but his brother's eyes lingered where the start black bruised flesh had stood out against the usual pale white.

Sherlock looked away. 'Alright...thank you for that.'

Mycroft said. 'Be careful. It's still a dangerous climate out there. There's a threatened terrorist attack on the rise and in your absence a new teacher as been called to Hogwarts. As well as this, I have some things of my own to take care of at the ministry.'

'Right.' Sherlock picked up his coat and moved stiffly past him, but paused, hand on the door when his brother's voice reached out quietly again.

'And for the record, I don't think anyone could break you...'

Sherlock blinked in surprise, but the tone of Mycroft's voice signaled the end to his visit, and he was well past the point of wanting to leave. So he slid through the door quietly, leaving Mycroft the peace in his office once again.

'Don't drop me at Baker street,' Sherlock said quietly.

'Sir, we have your brother's orders to. This isn't your choice.' The woman up front was still going by Anthea, even though Sherlock didn't know her real name. 'Unless you are going to either John Watson's or that inspector's. Then I'm fairly certain he would only lose his mind slightly.'

Sherlock smirked slightly, liking her better than the last time we'd met. 'Inspector Lestrade, is he at the same address?'

Anthea shook her head. 'No. But luckily as Mycroft Holmes' trusted, I happen to know some of what he knows, especially if it pertains to basic levels of your safety.' She met his eyes in the rearview mirror. 'He's in a flat near the ministry. Spends everyday getting a coffee and then making the five minute walk to work. If I drop you there now, you should see him. He usually makes it home around this time.'

'I don't remember you being this good,' Sherlock said, grunting as he shifted in the back seat.

'I remember you being that rude.' But Anthea smiled. 'I'll take it as a compliment, sir.'

 

It was dark in Lestrade's house after Sherlock had picked the lock and let himself in, locking the door behind him so as not to raise suspicion to Lestrade. He wandered around slowly, backpack slung over one shoulder in the least harmful way to his injured body, surveying the photos on the detective's walls, looking at the cheap furniture, empty bedroom that barely looked used...

He paused over a photo of Lestrade and a young girl. Couldn't be his daughter--Lestrade had never married. But he also never spoke of a child in his life. Sherlock wondered who she was and what she meant to his mentor.

He'd just put it back on the desk when he heard a voice say quietly from behind him. 'Niece. My niece. Died a little over 6 years back. Along with my sister. She would've been a year older than you.'

Sherlock spun around quickly, wondering how he hadn't heard Lestrade come in. Lestrade looked at Sherlock with searching eyes, and then a gritty smile broke out across the man's face before he crossed the room in two easy strides and pulled Sherlock into a tight hug.

Sherlock grunted in pain before he could stop himself, but hugged Lestrade back tightly, hoping the man hadn't heard.

'I missed you you bloody idiot,' Lestrade muttered. 'Don't you ever pull something like that again, you hear me?' Sherlock nodded silently, not meeting Lestrade's eyes and Lestrade gave a deep sigh. 'What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be with John or Mrs Hudson? Or even your stupid brother, he'd probably want to know-'

'He brought me back to London, don't worry about what Mycroft wants...' Sherlock paused. 'I don't want to bother Mrs Hudson so late. Might give her a heart attack. And John... well again, sneaking in to see him late at night wouldn't be the best. Do you ...mind if I stay here until the morning?'

Lestrade smiled. 'I'll even take you to Mrs Hudson's myself tomorrow. I'm off work, no major cases.Do you want food or water? You can take my bed if you want--the couch folds out into a bed-'

'I...I'll take the couch it's fine with me. I don't know how well I'll sleep anyways.' Sherlock avoided Lestrade's eyes again.

Lestrade looked at him quietly and then sat on the edge of the bed tentatively. 'Are you alright? Did something happen these past few months?'

Sherlock laughed bitterly before he could stop himself, and a sharp pain rushed through he chest. He gasped, clutching his injured ribs, slightly regretting his refusal of any kind of magical medical treatment from Mycroft's staff. Lestrade jerked, his face quickly becoming more concerned, but Sherlock shook his head and took a step back as he leaned against the wall, making sure he could still breathe steadily.

'Sherlock, what's-'

'I got hurt,' Sherlock said tightly, looking up at Lestrade and gritting his teeth. 'Badly,' he said in response to Lestrade's look. 'I was...I had to take care of some things that related to Jim Moriarty's death at the end of last term. It got me in a bad spot with some bad people. Mycroft had to get me out.' He sighed carefully and closed his eyes. 'It's fine now.'

'Christ like hell it is,' Lestrade said softly. 'You look bloody awful right now, do you see yourself? The color went straight from your face a minute ago, have you got broken ribs or something?!'

'Probably,' Sherlock said quietly. Lestrade met his eyes. 'I just need to rest. I'm sure Mrs Hudson will fuss enough when she sees me.'

'Right,' Lestrade said softly. 'Is it just the ribs?' His eyes searched Sherlock's clothed frame.

'No.' Sherlock said shortly. Lestrade nodded.

'If I think something's serious, you're gonna let me help you, alright?' Lestrade swallowed heavy, his eyes trailing to the photo of his niece. 'Don't wanna lose you again, do we?' he said faintly.

Sherlock didn't sleep that night. He sat on the couch until the early hours of the morning, absently petting Sigerson and looking out the window to the London streetlights outside. He wasn't sure he wanted to go back to his life at Hogwarts, in this world. He didn't know if he even could, after the summer "vacation" he'd had.

It was still early in the morning when he decided to borrow Lestrade's shower and change into clean clothes and be ready when Lestrade woke up to go wherever he would go next.

When he got out of the shower, he slowly walked back to the couch and his backpack, riffling through it to find a clean t-shirt, and froze when he heard Lestrade walking through the hall. The footsteps also froze outside the doorway to the room that Sherlock was in and Sherlock didn't dare turn around, knowing Lestrade could see that marks of 3 months of abuse on his shirtless torso. He didn't want to see Lestrade's face or know what Lestrade was thinking. He didn't want questions or concern.

But if Lestrade was bothered by the image, he didn't show it because a second later the sounds of walking had resumed and Sherlock heard the sounds of a cupboard opening in the small kitchen.

'I'm making myself coffee,' Lestrade called from the kitchen. 'I have that or orange juice, which would you rather have?'

'The orange juice,' Sherlock called back, closing his eyes briefly before pulling on his t-shirt. He hovered in the doorway until Lestrade handed him a glass, noting the Lestrade looked as if he hadn't slept either.

Neither of them pointed out what they'd noticed about the other, however, and had a peaceful and easy breakfast.

Sherlock would've liked for things to remain this way for a long time. Whatever Lestrade's place in his life was, Sherlock liked it. He would've liked to just disappear from the world and have Lestrade keep his place. Lestrade made a better family member than much of his real family did, Sherlock often thought.

But he knew he owed John and apology, and the same to Mrs Hudson. He knew he had the responsibility to continue at Hogwarts. He knew he had promised to look into mycroft's problems.

He hated it.


	2. Home

"I'm driving you to Baker Street," Lestrade said firmly, as Sherlock pulled his bag gently onto one shoulder, wincing as the pain was almost worse after a night of no sleep. "After that you can decide what you want to do."

Something in Lestrade's voice told Sherlock he understood, without him having said anything, exactly Sherlock's thoughts throughout the past few hours. Sherlock didnt know how to express how grateful he was that the inspector hadn't said anything to sway Sherlock's thoughts either way.

Soon they were pulling up at Baker Street in Lestrade's car. He turned to Sherlock. "Do you want me to come with you?"

Sherlock shook his head. "no. I'll be alright." He looked at Lestrade. "Thanks for putting me up last night."

"No problem. At all," Lestrade said truthfully. "Tell me if you need anything--anything at all, alright?"

Sherlock nodded mutely and stepped out of the car, pulling his bag and Sigerson's crate out with him. Lestrade didn't pull away yet, seemingly to make sure Sherlock got inside safely.

Sherlock sighed, looking up to the front steps, and then walked forward, pulling out his keys and walking to the door, he looked back at Lestrade, before unlocking it and pulling it open, he'd barely stepped inside before he heard a scream of fright and something heavy and metal collided with his face and he blacked out.

He opened his eyes burrily sometime later, to Lestrade and Mrs Hudson peering over him. Lestrade burst out laughing.

"Well, I'm just glad you didn't give her a heart attack,' he said, giggling as Sherlock sat up, glaring at him. 'Apparently your stupid brother didn't let her know.'

"what the hell hit me?" Sherlock asked, groaning and rubbing his forehead. he watched as Mrs Hudson made a face and pointed to her frying pan on the counter.

"I was washing dishes," she said apologetically.

Sherlock laughed, genuinely, honestly, at the situation. 'Well, definitely not what i expected to come home to.' he blinked. Home.

Mrs Hudson threw her arms around him once he'd stood, and he heard her sniffle into his chest slightly.

'NEVER do something like that again, Sherlock.' She looked up into his eyes, and he felt shame at not telling her, not giving her word. 'I will not lose my boy again, do you understand?'

Something in Sherlock's heart wrenched and emotion caught in his throat as he nodded and hugged her back tightly.

'Have you seen John yet?' Mrs Hudson asked gently as they broke apart. Sherlock shook his head. 

'Soon, ill probably have to,' he said softly. 'How is he?'

'He was a mess after you...left,' Lestrade admitted hesitantly.

"Be fair, we all were," mrs hudson said gently. Sherlock frowned guiltily.

"Get that look off your face," Lestrade muttered, looking at Sherlock. "Don't think for a second that we don't know that you wouldn't have done what you did without some kind of good reason behind it." He sighed very softly. "Listen, I've got a mound of paperwork back at the office to work on so im gonna head off for now. Let me know if you need anything, alright?" He smiled. "Just glad to have you back. Be careful," he said meaningfully. "Mrs Hudson dont let him get into too much trouble."

She waved him off, seeing him to the door as sherlock went up to his flat and looked around, admiring the dust and stuffiness of the place.

"Sorry," Mrs Hudson said from behind him. "I couldn't come up here not so soon after..." she smiled faintly. "Well, it's silly isn't it now. I'll make some food and then you can go see John, alright?"

"I'm actually gonna go now if you don't mind," Sherlock said softly. "A trip through London will be nice now."

"Want me to take you?" Sherlock shook his head and she sighed. "Okay, don't be back too late if you can help it. I'll try to get dinner ready around six, so be back then if you want some."

"I'll try," Sherlock said and swept out the door quickly, breathing in the fresh air deeply. Something about the place made him feel pent up now, and unhappy. and maddeningly anxious. He flexed his fists and then headed off down the street, pausing only to light a cigarette once he was a block away.

 

He wondered if he should try John's house first or not, but decided it would be good to check there first. The only other place he could think was Diagon Alley, given it was so close to term starting.

He approached John's street slowly, wondering if he should climb up the back drainpipe again so as not to alert John's family and only see John, but quickly decided against it. He wasn't going to make things harder than they already were.

Sherlock knocked carefully on the front door, taking a heavy breath to steel himself. Then the door swung open and Mr Watson was staring at him, clear and total shock over his face.

"Who is it, dear?"Mrs Watson's shout came from the back of the house and Mr Watson shook slightly.

"Jesus...John told us you were." He blinked in shock, looking Sherlock up and down and Sherlock smiled, sheepishly.

"I know, I'm sorry..." He looked up at Mr Watson. "Is he home, by any chance? Was kinda hoping to...tell him myself ..."

Mr Watson blinked again and then smiled slightly. "No..no, sorry, he went with someone to Diagon Alley to pick up their books for next term." He shook his head. "Sorry...shock. Do you want a ride down there?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No ... I could use your fireplace if you don't mind."

Mr Watson frowned. "Magic," he sighed, after a beat, shaking his head. Smiling faintly, he let Sherlock pass him.

Pulling the baggie of flu powder he's kept on him out of his jeans pocket, Sherlock made his way into the front room, having to stop as Mrs Watson expressed her shock at the sight of him. He accepted her hug wincingly, but hugged her back all the same. 

"How on earth are you still here with us?" She was teary-eyed, making him uncomfortable.

"It's a very long story, Mrs Watson," he said tiredly, and smiled a little.

"He's going to see John," Mr Watson said. "I'm sure we'll here about it soon enough, Sherlock, you go on ahead."

Sherlock nodded gratefully and flicked some of the powder at the fireplace before stepping in the green flames and saying clearly "Diagon Alley!"

He had little time to register the Watsons' faces before he was whisked away.

 

Sherlock stood from the hearth in the leaky cauldron, quickly brushing himself off and raising the hood of his jacket over his head, in an attempt to make himself less noticeable if anyone were to notice him. He slunk out quickly from the crowded pub, and into the crowded street.

People moved past him at their normal paces and no one looked twice at him, so Sherlock felt quickly more at ease, checking the shop windows for signs of John as he hurried by, wondering if he should linger in one place and see if his friend were to walk by.

He entered the bookstore, peering around the tall shelves in the Quidditch aisle for signs of his friend but saw none. As he poked his head around a shelf, a boy his age looked up and met eyes with him, brown eyes widening in Sherlock and Sherlock's own doing the same before he stumbled backward, knowing he'd been caught, praying they wouldn't a scene.

"Sherlock!?" Anderson came around the corner quickly and started, before gripping Sherlock by the upper arms and grinning madly. "Jesus Christ it is you. Sally, Sally..."

And Donovan was right behind him, looking like a ghost in surprise; Anderson was talking frantically about how he'd known all along, that there was no way, but Sherlock watched as Sally's face turned from shock to shame in a heartbeat, ducking her head quickly to hide the wetness Sherlock had seen in them.

Sherlock detached himself from Anderson's grip and put down his hood, smoothing out his face to a normal expression.

"Clearly Ravenclaw's best couldn't manage even 3 months without me," he said heavily.

A grin broke out across Anderson's face, and he laughed slowly. Sally sniffed and raised her head, the back of her hand wiping her eyes slightly.

"Alright, freak?" she said lightly. Sherlock smiled slightly, bowing his head.

"Alright." He shrugged gently. "Either of you seen John around?"

"He was getting coffee with a girl a few minutes ago. Probably is still at the shop if you wanna head over there," Anderson told him.

"Thanks."

"Can't believe you're back, honestly," Anderson said, laughing as Sherlock walked to the door. He stopped as he heard Sally's steps stop behind him, and turned to face her, no one else in sight.

She didn't say anything, just slowly came up to him and gave him a brief, but meaningful, hug and then smiled softly as his look, turning back and disappearing behind the shelf to where she'd left.

Sherlock closed his eyes and smiled faintly before heading out to John.


	3. Back

Sherlock approached the patio slowly, suddenly nervous of how John would respond. But he put that all to the back of his mind as the sprung careful up the three steps, feet treading lightly on the wooden boards, and carefully approached there table.

John was deep in conversation with the blonde girl opposite him and didn't look up when he approached. But she did. He noticed her eyes change slightly when she looked up at him and then she was looking back at John, biting one of her nails and seeming nervous. If only he could allow himself to do the same.

"John Watson, aren't you friend's with that fake detective?," he asked quietly, putting on a voice, he had no idea why...

"Listen, I don't ever talk about that anymore and he wasn't--"

And John finally turned, Sherlock smiled, and John was standing, standing looking unsettled and shocked and afraid, disbelief and anger chased themselves around his friend's features and Sherlock stood quietly, allowing it.

"Oh my god you were dead." The girl John was with had finally managed to speak. She didn't sound disbelieving, merely surprised.

"Not quite," Sherlock said quietly, still looking at John.

"But you died, you jumped off the astronomy tower... last year we all..." She was shaking her head and looking from him to John and back.

He spared her another look. "Not exactly."

"What the hell do you mean?"

John's voice was a low growl and the girl and Sherlock both turned to look at him, startled.

"What do you mean, not exactly? Your body was at my feet you fucking bastard."

Sherlock opened his mouth and closed it. He looked at John. "John, I have no idea how-"

"You let me grieve for 4 months. How could you let me do that? I thought you'd...killed yourself."

"So did everyone else, believe me, it wasn't just you-"

"Shut up." John's eyes met Sherlock and Sherlock felt very small suddenly. His convictions over keeping people safe from Moriarty's empire, from the plan that he and Mycroft devised, turned to water under the scope of the anger and pain that was behind John's eyes.

"Four months, Sherlock. Four. Months."

Sherlock looked to the girl, she had only sympathy in her eyes, and back to John. He shut down.

"So any chance you wanna help me chase a terrorist out of the ministry?"

John punched him, square in the face, Sherlock let out a bark of bitter laughter that John mistook as amusement and tackled him, down the stairs flat on his back on the ground. Sherlock bit his tongue in pain, grounding loudly as John attempted to throttle him.

The girl was the one to pull John off.

"John!" she said.

"Do you know what he's done? He always does this, he thinks it's some kind of game, ruining people's lives, hurting them, playing with danger-"

Sherlock got to his knees, shakily. "Playing?" he snorted.

John swing at him again and Sherlock had his left arm up and his right arm going for his wand out of reflex before he could think. He forced himself to think and relaxed, firmly but not violently holding John back.

"Screw you," John said lowly, pulling away and walking past the girl, away from Sherlock.

She looked at him for a moment, before helping him up. "You really know how to make an appearance."

He snorted painfully.

"I'm Mary by the way. It's nice to actually be able to meet you. Alive, that is."

He frowned at her. "Aren't you gonna go after him?"

"Oh yeah for sure. Just making sure you're okay. He'll forgive you, you know."

"Really?" Sherlock squinted at her, reading her more closely. Slytherin, their year. Blonde, small, gentle, DADA and charms focus.... He'd seen her before a few times.

"Really." She said. "Go rest up someplace, you look like you've been through the mill. I'll see to John." She smiled.

Sherlock watched he walk off. Then he turned and went his own way.

 

Three weeks later he was hugging goodbye to Mrs Hudson, making sure sigerson was firmly locked in his crate, and boarding the Hogwarts express.

"Christmas at Baker Street, young man, don't you forget!" Mrs Hudson called. Sherlock turned and nodded. Smiled sadly. He didn't think Christmas would be as nice as it had been the past four years. But there was a long half year ahead of him.

He found a compartment to himself and sat alone.

An hour into the trainride, Molly Hooper walked in. Sherlock flinched at the sound of the door opening, standing up straight and then shivering violently as she threw her arms around him as he stood.

"God, you had me worried," she said quietly.

"Mmm."

"Where's John? Is everything okay? Do you need anything-"

Sherlock sighed, pried her off him. "I need everything to continue how it was. Or as close as it can be." He met her eyes. "Thank you tho, Molly."

She turned her mouth corners up in a small smile. "Okay."

"Go on back to your compartment. Everything is fine." He attempted a smile to look more convincing. She nodded and headed out, leaving him to sit and let out a shaky breath, turning to the window to wonder if everything would be okay.

 

Two weeks later he stood in the hills across from Mycroft, running with his wand out, flashes of lights sparking through the air, his brother turning equally quick to shoot light at him.

"I told you, it would be easier to do this if I wasn't in school. As it is, nothing is out of place."

Mycroft frowned, shooting sparks from his wand and Sherlock twisted far out of the way to avoid it before sending a jet at Mycroft, lightning fast and it seeped into his brother. Mycroft raised his hands in defeat.

"You're getting slow," Sherlock accused.

"Old age," Mycroft muttered.

"Seven years difference at our ages is not that big a difference."

"Living through what I have is-"

Sherlock gave him a glare, not breaking eye contact until Mycroft did.

His brother ran his tongue over his lower lip and let out a breath. "Well..." He cleared his throat, walking over to Sherlock. "Thankfully, you're in this good of shape then."

"And now you're admitting defeat in two matches." Sherlock grinned. Mycroft sighed.

"Butterbeer?"

A few minutes later they were sat in a private room in the Three Broomsticks, pouring over pages of information on various employees at the Ministry.

"Lord Moran, Shackbolt, and Davies are the ones you want to watch. Let me know if anything changes," Sherlock said.

"Yes, definitely." Mycroft sighed. "This is all a pain. One day I want a team to do this, but no one else is this trustworthy."

"I'm flattered," Sherlock muttered.

Mycroft smiled tightly. "How are things with John?"

Sherlock blinked before drinking a large amount of butterbeer.

"Same then?"

"What can I do but wait and see what happens?" Sherlock said quietly.

Mycroft grimaced. "You know my feelings on this sort of thing. Alone protects you, Sherlock."

"As much as you try to, John used to protect me," Sherlock fired back. "I haven't forgotten after father's death."

Mycroft inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. "Yes." Sherlock sighed and looked away. "You need him. And he needs you. If I'm right, and you know the odds of that, it will work out." He gave Sherlock a meaningful look that Sherlock took as his cue to leave.

 

He walked back across the grounds slowly, smoking a cigarette from one of the packs he'd brought to school. It helped him, going out nightly for a walk and a smoke, walking the grounds and thinking, always thinking.

"Holmes!"

He started, realizing he'd treaded too closely to the castle where he'd be seen. He stopped in place as Snape strode to him, trying to finish off his cigarette before he was banished inside.

"This is the eighth night in a row," Snape growled quietly.

"Why were you watching what I was doing instead of getting me into trouble?" Sherlock said, glaring at Snape.

"This needs to stop. I don't care whatever is going on in your personal life, or whatever you help out with, here or elsewhere." Ah so Dumbledore had informed at least some of the staff, Sherlock thought. "You are not above the rules, and you are smarter than this." The black eyes pierced daggers into Sherlock's and Sherlock sighed. "If Gryffindor mattered to you I'd take off 40 points. Regardless I don't want to catch you again."

"I won't," Sherlock said, flicking the cigarette away. Snape made a face, "-let you catch me again," Sherlock finished, turning to walk to the castle. Snape grabbed a fistful of Sherlock's robes and held him back; Sherlock flinched and whipped his head around to face Snape, silently chastising himself you are fine you are fine youarefine. Snape quickly let go and took a step back.

"Do. Not." Snape said lowly.

 

Sherlock slowly passed John in the common room, not even caring why he was in their so late, just wanting to get into his bed, pull the curtains around it, and sit in darkeness.

"You smell of cigarettes," John said lowly.

Sherlock paused at the foot of the stairs.

"You're smoking now."

"Yes."

He half turned his head to look at John and saw pain in his friend's eyes.

"Suppose you're still not getting caught this late."

"Suppose that's changed to," Sherlock sighed. He turned to look at John fully.

John gave him a look.

"Apparently Snape's still sharp as a fucking knife," Sherlock said. The he turned back to the stairs. "I'm going to bed."

"Sherlock-"

John was stepping forward but Sherlock's look stopped him. John stuck his hands in his pockets and sighed, looking away. "Are you...okay?" he asked softly.

Sherlock paused for a moment before snorting. "Are you?" He didn't even smirk at John's look. "No," he said in answer and went up into the dark.


	4. Flight not Fight

Sherlock looked over the table to John, sitting with Bill Murray at breakfast, and then looked down at his own food moodily. Post came and two owls, Mrs Hudeon's fluffy brown and Mycroft's stuffy stern one, landed before him. Sherlock was untying letters from their legs when someone sid next to him on the bench.

"Sherlock?"

"Molly, what?" Sherlock looked around. "This is the Gryffindor table."

"I didn't think they were that strict about who we sat by." Molly blushed slightly. "Besides, you were alone, and you said you wanted to talk to me and-"

"And your boyfriend is working on something," Sherlock finished softly. Molly blushed again.

"What did you want?" Sherlock watched as she pulled toast and eggs on her plate.

"I need you to keep an eye on someone for me." Sherlock slowly told her what he wanted. He had thought about this for a long while; the last time he'd asked someone to spy in depth was Carl Powers, who'd been killed because of it. Sherlock had taken his time researching how he could best deal with Mycroft's case of threats against the Ministry (and, Sherlock suspected, Hogwarts) without getting so directly involved that he would have to leave school. There were other matters on his mind. Namely a certain chaos that still had whispers around every corner, and of a few clippings back from the days of Moriarty that had yet to name a mastermind. As much as Sherlock had wanted to blame the two murders with blackmail ties on his old arch-enemy, there was something nagging him to look into it further.

He had Sally Donovan poking around for information about Shackbolt; her parents worked in the same office as him and Sally had said that they knew most of the gossip around the office. However, she'd seemed reluctant at first to keep tabs with them. Moran was someone Sherlock could keep track of; it wasn't hard to sneak into the village occasionally at night and talk with people who knew him-Moran had close ties with the school and drank in the pubs in Hogsmeade every weekend. And Davies had a son a year under Molly.

"I can do it." Molly nodded. "For sure. We're not friends, but we've talked occasionally. He's not exactly shy and he was one of the people who noticed some of the crimes going on two years ago."

"I also wondered if you might fancy helping me track down someone who's threatening a Slytherin first year."

Molly looked at him sadly. "You can do that on your own, definitely. I bet it would be someone in your house. " Sherlock bowed his head in acknowledgment. The point of rivalry between the two houses didn't escape him. "What about John?" Molly said softly.

Sherlock looked over to where John was sitting to see Mary come over and kiss John on the forehead. John laughed, smiled. She looked up to meet eyes with Sherlock. Sherlock looked away. "I'm leaving it open to him," he murmured.

"Talk to him," Molly said. She was pulling out homework.

"Is that potions? Need any hel-"

"Sherlock," Molly laughed. "Snape's tough but I'm actually quite good at it. Talk to John."

"I think he made it clear enough that he doesn't want to be around me for a while."

"For god's sake, you sleep in the same room. He's quidditch captain, you're gonna have to try out for him."

"Do you think he'd want me to?" Too late, Sherlock caught the eagerness in his voice and looked down into the depths of his pumkin juice, scowling at Molly's laugh.

"I think you want to." He looked up and she grinned at him. "Anyways, you were a brilliant seeker and I don't know anyone who could replace you."

Sherlock snorted, but with real amusement. It felt funny in his throat.

"I know, you know." Molly stood. "I had a crush on you for... years." She was going red, yet Sherlock couldn't break eye contact. "Think about it, okay?"

Sherlock made a small noise in his throat and watched her walk away.

 

Two nights later he was down at the Quidditch pitch, on his broom with a stolen snitch, zooming up and down the field, faster and faster. He'd broken down and bought the latest model broom. At breakneck speed, he hurtled himself towards the grass, grabbing the snitch at the last minute and pulling off the dive, letting it go in a smooth movement as h tore off in the opposite direction from the snitch. In five minutes, he'd had it caught again.

An hour later he trudged into the Gryffindor common room, thoroughly tired out. But feeling better than he had in weeks. He'd forgotten how much he'd actually loved flying.

 

John walked down from the dormitory three days later. Sherlock was seated with Sigerson at a table in the corner, bruises on his face and a bandage on his left hand. John had to stop himself out of habit to ask what'd happened. He instead stood awkwardly until Sherlock looked up.

"You can have the seeker spot, but I want the field back to train the team until you and the new keeper start with us," John said.

"You can always hit bludgers at me," Sherlock offered. "Almost as painful as you trying to strangle me at Diagon Alley."

"Sherlock-"

"John. If you don't want me near you, I won't. It doesn't mean I don't consider you a friend." Sherlock swallowed heavily. "I probably always will."

John looked up at him, torn somewhere between punching him and forgiving him. "Practices start next week. I only had two spots to fill, and you were one of them. Our first game is soon but with OWLs this year, I was putting tryouts off."

"Then I'll come to the practice before the first game."

John shook his head and left.

 

Sherlock flew above everyone, squinting for the snitch. He'd found it twice but held off on diving for it as the Ravenclaw seeker didn't seem good at all at seeing anything. Gryffindor needed the points anyways. Already up by 90 was good, but if he could hold off longer, it would put them at a better chance of beating Slytherin this year.

He was making another wide turn down at the Ravenclaw end of the field when he heard the screaming.

Quickly, he dove down to field level, smelling something like smoke. It wasn't long before he saw what.

John's broom was on fire. Worse yet, on fire and seemingly out of his control. Sherlock's heart pounded madly as he watched Madam Hooch try to aim water at the broom, but it sped off, John barely holding on as it twisted through the air. In a heartbeat, Sherlock had laid flat on his stomach, urging his broom forward, as everyone around him froze, watching in horror.

The same horror struck him as John's broom hit one of the towering stands and the fabric house colors caught fire along with the wooden frame. But Sherlock didn't have time to think about anything but getting to John, and urged his broom through the fire, managing to grab one of John's limp arms and pull him onto the boom as the fire climbed towards them. Sherlock let out a roar as he sped back out through the fire; his eyebrows might be gone, he registered faintly. As he sped towards the ground, he registered something speeding past his right ear and took his hand off the broom to swat it away. And then realized what it was and, on instinct, closed his fingers around the snitch. He and John toppled lightly off his singed broom and onto the ground.

Everyone was rushing down from the stands and onto the field, Hooch was landing not far, Sherlock sat up to see McGonagall running to them, concern on her face. Mary wasn't far behind, looking somewhere between murderous and teary-eyed. Sherlock looked down at John in time to see his friend faint--he pawed John for injury and was relieved to see nothing besides a few burns. He struggled to his feet quickly, pressing the snitch into Hooch's gloved hand and ignoring the shocked look on her face before slipping through the crowd to get away and get some air. He vaguely heard McGonagall call his last name but continued on until he was outside the field, finally able to breath.


	5. How do we navigate

It was two days before John came into the common room, late at night, looking slightly worn, but on the whole, healed. Sherlock was relived, although he tried his best to appear relaxed. He didn't, however, avoid eye contact and bend back over his astronomy homework.

"You plan on passing all your OWLs then?" John sat opposite Sherlock.

Sherlock let a smile tug on the corners of his lips. "I have to don't I? Astronomy and History of Magic are gonna be rough."

"Potions," John groaned. 

For a moment, it was normal. Then John's look grew serious.

"They said you saved my life. Do we know what happened?"

Sherlock sat back and looked away. "No."

"Sherlock."

He kept his gaze on the table. "We had magical investigators up here--not Lestrade, though, not his division. McGonagall also called me in for a chat. No leads."

"No lies this time?"

Sherlock finally met John's steely eyes. "No lies this time. Promise."

John nodded. "What do you think then?"

 _I think I've missed you and I dont want to be doing this right now_. Sherlock took a breath.

"Are we going to ignore everything?" 

"That isn't how this works, right?" John's tone was light but his look was serious. "You don't tell me important things." 

Sherlock stood. 

"John I told you about my father in our third year. The only ones who knew about him were Bell and Mycroft, and Mycroft only knew to an extent."

"Yeah but-"

"I told you exactly how I was feeling after Victor died. If I'd been inclined to lie, I might have been much more cheerful."

"Sherlock-"

"And right now. I miss you. I've missed you all summer. Every step I ran, every breath that I took in a panic, everything that happened, during all of it I just hoped I'd be able to make it back here." Sherlock met John's eyes. "You are my friend, John, my best friend. And I owe you a thousand apologies, but I'm starting with this one: I'm sorry." He inhaled deeply and stuck out a hand for John to shake.

John took a look at it and then met Sherlock's eyes.

"I thought you were dead," John said in a small voice. "I've never lost anyone I cared about...loved so much."

"John-"

John stood and pulled Sherlock into a tight hug. "Alright. Alright."

They held that way for several moments before John broke away. "So what happens now?"

Sherlock scratched the back of his head. "Well, Mycroft said trouble was underfoot. I've been searching but nothing's come up yet. Besides that, you should start letting me help you with your potions again--you can't be an healer without a good potions grade and Snape is known to be ridiculously strict."

"For good reason," John said. "In theory, I'm good. In practice not so much." He looked at Sherlock. "Have you checked in with any of the Slytherins? A couple of Mary's friends have parents in the Ministry, I bet they would be good ears if anything is going on."

"Slytherins still don't have a thing for me," Sherlock said lightly. "Or you, Quidditch Captain this year and there to ring in their defeat--"

"But Mary."

Sherlock grinned. "Alright."

 

Mary looked from Sherlock to John, where they sat in the entrance hall, before John's Divination class.

"So you want me to ask everyone what their Ministry employee parents have been doing?"

John frowned. "Or you could just listen in. Whichever is easier."

"Either. Slytherins tend to be privy to each other's conversations. If not for friendship reasons, than to share knowledge." She looked at them both. "Most of us have Ministry ambitions so gotta work hard. Make connections."

"Well aware of that," Sherlock muttered, thinking of Mycroft, who had promptly dumped most of his connections once he'd been well on his way. "Thanks for doing this."

"No worries," Mary said cheerily. "It'll be fun." She looked to John. "I'm glad you two made up."

John shrugged. "Can't turn down your best mate after he's saved your life."

"Right, well, good luck in Divination John, I heard Trelawney is on the warpath today." She waved to them both as she hurried off.

Sherlock found himself smiling slightly. "You found a good choice in girlfriend, John."

"Er. Right. Yeah." Sherlock looked over. John was looking intently at his shoes.

"Alright?" Sherlock frowned.

John looked up and met his gaze. Then smiled slightly. "Yeah, fine. Meet you at lunch after class?"

"Yup." Sherlock watched as John wandered off to the portrait room to take the quickest path to the tower, wondering if this time, it was John who wasn't telling him something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow it's been a while.
> 
> Here's what's been up. Since high school (a looong time ago) I've been working on this little series here. Lately it's been a good part of a year without touching it, a year at least without seriously working on it. My writing and what I want to write about has changed alot.
> 
> I will not be editing what I've written already here, because I want that progress to show. I grew with this series and I will continue to grow with it.
> 
> But know that there will be some changes to this, because I do not want to stick so closely to BBC Sherlock canon as much anymore. (you'll see what I mean very soon) It will still be the same good growing relationship and friendship of John and Sherlock, and all the BBC regular characters with their personalities (mostly) intact. but a different tone, and a different take on these things.
> 
> So hey, if you've stuck with me this long, things won't be changing too much, but there will be some differences. And I promise it'll be in the name of a better, more complete, and better story that I feel good about.
> 
> Sorry this one was so short, it's a sort of gap filler between where I was going with this, and where it will end up!
> 
> Thanks for reading, see you in the next chapters. :)


	6. Details

Sally Donovan ran into Transfiguration 5 minutes before it was due to start, panting slightly. She looked over to Sherlock, who'd reclaimed his seat next to John, a faint smile on her lips. "After class," she said, as she passed them.

"What is-?" But John closed his mouth as McGonagall walked in to start the lesson.

They paired up for vanishing spells practice, something McGonagall insisted would be on their OWLs.

"Good you two are pairing up. Both of you finishing off the next three years on the auror-required studies," McGonagall commented as she watched Sherlock and John take turns practicing on a matchbox.

"Auror track?" John looked to Sherlock.

Sherlock shrugged. "Closest I could get." He frowned. "I thought you were gonna be a healer?"

"Mr Watson relayed his concerned to me about wanting to be a healer in times of action." McGonagall was wearing a smile rarely seen. "I thought that was an excellent idea, considering the times of struggle we've been through. And still might reach."

"You're not talking about a second great war are you?" Sherlock said, his voice small in his throat. McGonagall shot him a look. 

"Hopefully not, Mr Holmes. Keep up the good work, you two."

"Second great war?" Sherlock looked over to John, who'd paused, wand at his side.

He cleared his throat. "Vo-You-Know-Who rose to power, then there was a war against him and his followers. It wasn't pretty, because many of us got wiped out. And then, for some reason, he went to kill the Potter family-"

"Yeah defeated by that baby." John shook his head. "Crazy, I'd only heard about the Potters."

"Most people tend to keep silent about it. It was a hard time, filled with mistrust and sadness." He looked down. "My mother died during it. One of Moriarty's family was among the people that killed her."

He saw, in his peripheral, John opening his mouth and then closing it again. And he frowned. "That sort of thing shouldn't be off-bounds for me to talk about with you." 

John shook his head. "Not while we're in class." He sighed. "That Potter kid would be about what 5 or 6 now, wouldn't he?"

Sherlock nodded. "Pity we'll be out of Hogwarts by then. His parents were supposedly great wizards; he'll probably do well."

The class ended and as the rest of the students were filing out, Sally and Anderson made their way over to John and Sherlock.

"You two friends again, then?" Sally asked. Sherlock smiled faintly.

"Yeah," Sherlock said. "Sorry for the accidental win against Ravenclaw last week."

Anderson laughed. "I saw you grab that snitch, absolutely brilliant. The Slytherins were calling for a rematch, but Hooch hadn't called the game yet."

"Sorry," John said, looking between Sherlock and the two Ravenclaws. "Last all four of us were in a room together, you two hated him."

Sherlock smirked. "Well then I jumped off a building."

Sally nodded. Anderson shook his head. "You need to tell me how you did it, by the way. My study group and I came up with several theories, mine was the best, obviously..."

"Anyways!" Sally looked at Sherlock. "Shackbolt is in no way your man. Apparently, he's buddies with Dumbledore, although the other two are also close with Dumbledore."

"That's something, though. A connection to Dumbledore." At everyone's questioning look, Sherlock explained as he slung his bag over his shoulder. "My brother seemed to imply that whatever is afoot in the Ministry might also affect the school. Need more data though to see how."

"We'll keep poking around," Sally said. "Also I overheard McGonagall. You two on the auror track?"

Sherlock and John nodded. "And Healer," John said, "But the two have a lot of overlap."

"We'll be in most of the same classes then, til we graduate," Anderson said. "Magical investigation is mostly the same courses."

John smiled faintly as the four of the separated in the stairwell. "That's so different. Those two. Us. Not fighting."

Sherlock snorted. Then frowned as John spoke again. "So your mother?"

"Mmm. I believe the first time you hit Moriarty, he was insulting her."

"Yeah and you got all worked up about it. I knew from the beginning, you know."

"What?" Sherlock looked to John, who smiled.

"You're more emotion than logic. Always have been. I've just been a dick everytime you've gotten logical over a problem."

"Coping." Sherlock looked away wistfully. 

"Did you ever find out how she died? Besides who did it?"

Sherlock shook his head. "Once it seemed all that mattered. I don't even know if Mycroft knows. But I think for now, it doesn't matter."

 

A bit of folded parchment was waiting on Sherlock's bed when he and John reached their dormitory. Sherlock unfolded it and John read it out loud, questioningly.

" 'Mr Holmes  
Would you and Mr Watson be able to come to my office at 6pm this evening?  
Albus Dumbledore.' "

John shook his head, admiring the smooth handwriting. "What even?"

Sherlock looked up, thinking. "Maybe he wants to ask about the Quidditch match. Or..."

"Or what?"

Sherlock looked over at John. "Over the summer, I went out to take down much of Moriarty's empire. And investigate some other things." He watched as John's brow creased. "He might be asking about that."

"Did he send you out there?" John asked.

Sherlock nodded. "Well, Mycroft and I came up with the initial plan to fake my death and bring down anyone in the criminal network Moriarty took part in. We thought Moriarty might've be working with someone. I still do." Sherlock let out a breath. "We hadn't expected him to kill himself."

"Can't believe he had a gun," John muttered. "I snuck into the tower while Lestrade was up there. Heard them discussing it." He didn't mention hearing Lestrade half crying, ending up shouting at his team and needing to be removed. "That was probably just to fuck you up mentally..."

"It did, in the moment." Sherlock spoke bitterly. "Can't believe he knew. I mean I can but..." He shook his head. "Dumbledore let me do it, having one request- that I find out some information for him while I was in a couple locations."

"About?" 

"He seems to think there's a danger lurking out there. But he doesn't have eyes everywhere, or contacts. He's limited." Sherlock shook his head. "I sent him and owl once I got back but..."

Sherlock turned to leave but paused as they passed Victor's bed, stuck staring at it.

"Sherlock wha-" John stopped. "Have you been thinking about him all term?"

"I." Sherlock shook his head, looking away from John as he headed downstairs. "He's gone. No bringing him back. I just-"

"It's okay to miss him."

Sherlock stopped and put an arm against the wall of the tower stairwell, burying his face in it. "I know," he said, his voice muffled. "It's just distracting."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I handle juggling three long fics at once? Hopefully. I had too much of a craving to update this.  
> No more separating these two in this series.
> 
> Hopefully, if you're still on board and reading this, you're enjoying it.


	7. Two Cases

"Where is Dumbledore's office, even?" John walked evenly alongside Sherlock; either Sherlock was walking slowly or John had finally matched speeds with his friend's long legged strides. 

"I was there at the end of last year, just before I was supposed to leave Hogwarts." Sherlock was silent for a moment. "Lucky, really that I wasn't expelled. I didn't think that Dumbledore or Mycroft had anyway of fighting against Moriarty's plan to prove I was a fake at academics. 

John coughed slightly. "Well, I had a chat with McGonagall. And... I talked to Molly a few days ago about it." He cocked his head when Sherlock gave him a piercing look. "What? She was making sure you and I were on better terms. She...checked up on me a lot while you were gone. Anyways, she told me that Anderson and Sally had some words with Flitwick and McGonagall... I didn't believe that they would actually fight to keep you here, even after Moriarty's death made it seem like you were telling the truth. But as it seems like you're on good terms now..."

Sherlock smiled slightly and they stopped in front of a large statue of an eagle. "You need a password to get in," he explained. "Unfortunately, I don't think it would be the same as last term's."

"What was last year's?" 

"Pepper Imps," Sherlock said, turning to the eagle. And it moved, spinning upward, revealing a staircase. Walking down it slowly was Albus Dumbledore. "Oh," Sherlock said.

"Forgive me, I realized belatedly that I'd changed the password and thought I should come down to fetch you both." Dumbledore gestured up the stairs, smiling. "Shall we, boys?"

Sherlock shared a bemused look with John and then they both followed Dumbledore up the stairs to his office. John's jaw dropped at the enormous amount of magical objects around him when he stepped inside, and Dumbledore led them to his desk, offering them the two chairs before it and then sitting himself.

"So, I'm sorry I couldn't say more about why I was calling you here in the owl; it's not a long story, but it's not one I would like to say in any way other than in person."

"So it's not about John nearly being killed or my... stint over the summer," Sherlock said slowly. Dumbledore inclined his head. 

"No, but I should extend the curtesy of asking after you both on both accounts." He turned to John. "I take it you are fully recovered?"

John nodded.

Dumbledore nodded in response. "I have my most trusted staff members looking into it." A mischievous smile twinkled in the old man's eyes. "All two of my most trusted staff members."

Sherlock snorted.

"If I heard anything of note, I will of course let you know. I would assume you have been thinking the same in that it's someone trying to get to you, Sherlock, by hurting Mr Watson?"

Sherlock nodded mutely and John swallowed heavily. "Rather that then them trying to hurt you directly," John said softly to Sherlock.

"I don't," Sherlock whispered. He looked up to find Dumbledore smiling sadly at them both.

"Your parents were some of the fighters in the last Wizarding war," Dumbledore said softly. "And your quest for justice both inside these walls and out has not escaped notice. Sometimes we create our own demons, other times they are just looking for someone to prey on." He looked wistful. "Just be careful. Enemies you make have a way of coming back to you, at costs you are often not prepared to sacrifice."

Sherlock frowned and John looked at him, then rubbed his hand against his pant leg. "So, what did you call us here for?"

Dumbledore's look grew more serious. "I understand that you, Mr Holmes, have taken on looking into a problem at the Ministry. It's also gotten around that you were looking at Shackbolt--"

"Not the man, I've been told." Sherlock grimaced. "Had no idea he was close to you, just saw him as someone influential."

"That he is so close to me should remain something under wraps. If the ministry were to go foul one day, he is someone I can rely on. Having known friends inside the ministry can be dangerous."

"Don't you drink with the minister in the Hogsmeade pub on some weekends though, sir?" John asked.

Dumbledore laughed. "Yes, well. A little friendliness doesn't go amiss." He looked at Sherlock and John. "If you do find who is going to be trouble, let me know and I will handle it. Your brother expects too much of people unable to do much." Sherlock visibly bristled and Dumbledore's expression grew light. "At age 15 you've proven yourself more than capable, Mr Holmes. You too, Mr Watson. But I think given all the struggle that has happened this far, it would be a mistake to involve you in things more dangerous than you could expect. He did tell you it is a suspected terrorist plan, correct?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Good. Then part two: low on your radar, but important." Dumbledore shifted, and John narrowed his eyes, wondering if the headmaster was uncomfortable with the next topic. "Lady Smallwood, who is important in the ministry, is being blackmailed."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "Didn't she have a history back when V...You-know-who was in power?"

"That's exactly what might be in danger of getting leaked," Dumbledore said solemnly. "Not only that, but we have been informed that this man wants to target other prominent members of the magical community as well."

"You, for instance?" Sherlock said lightly, his piercing eyes meeting Dumbledore's. Dumbledore's look grew deadly serious.

"There are some things that one would like to keep private. The people who have targets painted on their head are trustworthy and in a position to do good if things turn foul, whether in the Ministry, or here. Or if we were to have a second great war. There are many things that could cause a waver of trust in even the best of people."

"Fear is an infectious condition," Sherlock muttered.

John sighed. "You want us to look into it?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Charles Milverton. Prominent man at the Daily Prophet."

"So he could cause a lot of trouble," John muttered.

Sherlock frowned. "Tricky though, isn't something like this out of our depth?"

Dumbledore smiled. "The terrorist threat is dangerous. This however, seeing as so many details of your life, even false ones, were printed in the prophet last term, poses no threat to you."

"I would take it up anyways," Sherlock said firmly. "I don't like people who prey on other people's private lives."

"And you speak as a man who tries to keep a private life and a low profile," John said, amused.

Sherlock shot him a look. "If you can do good, you should do good." He looked to Dumbledore. "I'll keep in touch. With both problems."

Dumbledore inclined his head. "Thank you both. If you do find whoever tried to harm you, Mr Watson, get in contact with me soon. That sort of thing has no place in this castle."

John nodded. "It was nice to meet you properly, sir," he said.

"you as well. I think I can expect great things from you both." Dumbledore smiled and the two of them left his office.

 

"You're sure about taking on the Milverton case, then?" John asked as they reached the common room. Sherlock nodded.

"If you don't want to help with that for any reason, I can understand." He shook his head. "Predatory, is the word for it. Blackmail is predatory."

John nodded, setting his bag down and pulling out ink and quill to start on Flitwick's essay. "I'll help. I think you're right about having the place to do good. We've both been at work on helping people for the past five years. Making enemies or not, it's important."

Sherlock nodded. "Although if sticking my neck out with you allows you to get hurt on a continuing basis, I'm going to have an issue."

"Oh, please, Sherlock." John put down his quill and met his friend's eyes. "I know sometimes it seems I'm not fully on board. But I'm serious when I say I wanna help. Even if I get angry sometimes or stopped talking to you in the past," he said quietly.

"We're all human," Sherlock said softly, and John looked up to find Sherlock's eyes as soft as his voice.

"Yeah, even you," John laughed.

"And even you," Sherlock said seriously. "I never blamed you for being angry. Any of the times. I wouldn't keep staying by your side otherwise." He looked at John, blinking as he realised he'd been leaning slightly across the table toward his friend and tried to ease himself backward. 

"Yeah." John smiled. Then his look grew serious. "I'm thinking of breaking up with Mary."

Sherlock blinked at the timing. "What? You two seem good together."

"I'm just... not sure about it. And lately I've just been seeing her as a friend. Since that day in Diagon Alley, I've been thinking that maybe I just asked her out as a way to...move on after your death. I think I needed someone, and people like Murray and Mike just weren't cutting it. Even Molly. She's sweet but she's... young." John shrugged. "I dunno."

"It's your decision," Sherlock said softly. He didn't want to let what he thought might be feelings for John play into it. If he was making enemies, he still had to decide how close he should keep people he cared about, and he didn't want to decide based on some hope that John was leaving Mary for him. For all he know, John was completely straight and had no interest in him whatsoever. And as Sherlock's last boyfriend had hung himself, Sherlock wasn't keen on having to deal with anything happening to John, or being reminded of that if he were to get in another relationship.

He shook his head, pulling his textbook closer to him. These were all hypotheticals. At the moment, he had school to focus on. And two cases now, both of which he placed importance above that of romantic entanglement. The work was what mattered, and if he wanted to do more of it after Hogwarts, he had to keep doing well now.

But he found himself looking up every so often to watch John's brow furrow in concentration, his friend poking his tongue out between his teeth as he worked something out. And Sherlock wasn't sure how firm his resolve was in anything, besides the fact that he might only be able to pine silently until he was more sure of John's feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is the burn slow enough for everyone?  
> Is the angst better this year at Hogwarts because instead of family and bullying, Sherlock's doing the emotion?
> 
> Hope you continue reading, thanks for keeping up this far (check out my fics for years 1-4 if you haven't yet, it means a lot)


	8. Planning Stages

"Two butterbeers please."

John and Sherlock carried their drinks back to a table in the Three Broomsticks and sat down, sipping them gently, relieved to be out of the freezing air.

Snow had finally come to Hogwarts the week before. Christmas would soon be here. As the castle began to spout out decorations overnight, it buzzed with students' excitement for the coming holiday. Even the fifth and sixth years, who would have tests soon approaching after the break and therefore work to study during their time off, couldn't escape the excitement. 

"You're welcome to come to mine for Christmas," John said. "Harry's going by her girlfriend's. It should just be me and my parents."

"Harry's got a girlfriend now?" Sherlock asked, smiling faintly, remembering that John's sister didn't like him too much the first time they'd met. John nodded. "She's what, 17?"

"Yeah. She wants to do math or something at uni, if she ends up going. She also wants to travel the world." John shook his head.

"We'll see about Christmas," Sherlock said. "Trying to see what Lestrade and Mrs Hudson are up to. Bell got back to me last week; he's gonna be busy at Mungo's, apparently. But he might be able to come by for New Year's."

"Mycroft?" John asked carefully. Sherlock shrugged.

"He's dealing with the same threat that Dumbledore wanted to take over from me."

"Speaking of Dumbledore's problems, Mary knows Lady Smallwood. I mentioned her in passing." John looked at Sherlock. "She seems like a great woman, but whatever strain Milverton is putting on her is taking its toll. It seems like he wants to drive her out of the Ministry or something." 

Sherlock thought for a moment. "I think we're going to have to speak to Milverton over break. Find out what he's up to. Mary or Mycroft might be able to help us get into his office at the Prophet, or maybe meet up with him at the Ministry somewhere." He paused as he saw Anderson and Sally walk in through the door, holding hands tightly, their faces red from the cold wind. He tilted his head, grinning, and John looked over as well. Sally pulled off her hat with her free hand, her hair springing out and Anderson watched, his eyes soft. Sally hurried up to buy them butterbeers and Anderson looked around the room, making eye contact with Sherlock then John and blushing, before heading over as John waved at him.

"It's crowded as hell in here, thanks," Anderson muttered, still red, as John moved to sit beside Sherlock so Anderson and Sally could have the other side of the table.

"Spending break with Sally?" John asked. Anderson nodded.

"My dad's heading out to see some family in America. I'm glad, really. I hate traveling." He smiled as Sally sat beside him and passed him a butterbeer. 

"Didn't know we were doing a double date today," Sally said, smiling at Sherlock, who flushed. John laughed.

"I've only just broken up with Mary," John said, "Don't go pushing me on someone else just yet. That would look awful."

Anderson snorted. "Hope she took it well. Slytherins aren't known to be forgiving."

"We know a couple of alright ones," Sherlock said softly. 

John nodded.

"Also, Sherlock, I did as you asked and passed along all the info I found for you to that Inspector Lestrade. He seemed really grateful. Hopefully nothing dangerous happens at the Ministry," Sally said worriedly.

Sherlock shrugged slightly. "It's out of my hands now. Focusing on less serious stuff and grades."

Anderson and John groaned. "We can't go one day without OWLs talk," John said. "A reminder of how I'll fail out of the auror track with potions."

"Charms for me," Anderson said. "Sally's been tutoring me; she's good at everything." Sally smiled.

"What's the less serious stuff you're working on?" she asked Sherlock. Sherlock frowned.

"Some idiot at the Prophet up to no good." Anderson snorted.

"They can be trash sometimes, the Prophet," he said, irked. 

 

Sometime later, Sherlock and John left the Three Broomsticks, stopping into Honeydukes briefly to stock up on sweets, and headed back to the castle.

"I wouldn't mind a double date with them," John said, smiling offhandedly. Sherlock blinked. "Just not anytime soon."

They went straight to the common room, grabbing books and parchment, and then settled in at their favorite table by the window to tackle the mountain of homework they each had due by Monday. Ten minutes in, a large dark owl flew in, dropping a folded note onto Sherlock's work and flying out again.

"You would think Mycroft's owls would get here at the regular time with everyone else's mail," John remarked. 

Sherlock unfolded the paper rolling his eyes. "Lestrade passed on Sally's information, they're hoping to have a confrontation with the guy in a few weeks with the right timing. He asks that we don't get involved with 'Lord Moran' anymore since we've been asked to step away already."

"Should try to time a meeting at the Ministry with milverton or smallwood at the same time. Without telling him or Lestrade, obviously." 

Sherlock blinked, looking up at John.

John continued, "If they're busy, there's less chance there would be trouble, because Milverton couldn't ask anyone else to show up, they'll all be dealing with Police presence. And then milverton would be stupid to do anything to us, because again, police presence heavy in the building." 

"John you're a genius," Sherlock muttered. "There'll be a hitch. Us getting into the Ministry without being forcibly removed by Lestrade or Mycroft. If they see us, they'll right away think that we're trying to get involved with the Moran business."

"We'll figure it out," John said, grinning. "Just don't leave me behind at home when you do this."

"No," Sherlock promised. "I'll come collect you when I find out when they're going to arrest Moran." He looked at John. "Do you think Mary could get us in contact with Lady Smallwood, since you said she knows her?"

John nodded. "Probably. We're still friends on good terms. I think she'll be happy to help."

Sherlock nodded. "We'll decide the rest over our break once you've heard from Mary." He hoped it would go easily enough. He had no idea what they would have to say to Milverton, or if their confrontation would only mean them later having to break in and steal anything he had on anyone else... Sherlock frowned at the thought, wondering how many people Milverton might be after currently.

He thought, as he picked up Sigerson, about the reason Dumbledore was so invested in this, the secrets the old man might be trying to hide away. And that made Sherlock even more frustrated. He swore to never bring it up to Dumbledore if he could help it, but everything he dug up on Grindlewald had shaken him. For it to be exposed, well, that would shake a lot of trust people had in the headmaster. They would have to do things carefully and cleanly this Christmas holiday, and be done with it once they got back. Then he could go back to trying to track down whoever had set John's broom on fire, although the trail had been getting colder as time passed.

All they could do would have to be good enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've gone back and forth on a lot of ideas for this stuff, and finally just sat down and typed one up, so hopefully this plot doesn't get too stupid.
> 
> More to come :)


	9. Holiday Warmth, Chilling Events

Sherlock awoke Christmas morning to snow falling outside his window at 221b. He smiled faintly, stretching before pulling on a shirt and socks. When he made it into the front room, Mrs. Hudson was putting tea and toast on the table.

"I was just about to wake you," she said to him, smiling. "We've both got presents under the tree in my flat; I'll summon them up here after breakfast."

Sherlock smiled. "Happy Christmas, Mrs. Hudson."

They sat down and make quick work of breakfast. After they were done, Mrs. Hudson cleared the table and summoned the gifts with two quick wand movements. Sherlock admired her skill in wandless magic; he hoped one day he would be able to do it.

Sherlock immediately tackled the gifts marked "from the Watsons". Mr. and Mrs. Watson had gotten him a potions book and a deep navy-blue sweater, respectively. Sherlock smiled, tugging the sweat over his head.

"That color definitely suits you, dear," Mrs. Hudson said, opening a card from John.

Sherlock pulled forward his own gift from John, finding a t-shirt with "The Seeker" printed on it. He cocked his head at it, wondering where John had found it. "He's gotten me a t-shirt," Sherlock said, holding it up and showing it to Mrs. Hudson.

"Ohhh, that's a lyric by a Muggle band," Mrs. Hudson cried, "My husband had one of their albums from someplace or other, but never listened to them. I'll dig it out for you in a bit so you can listen to it. I think that song is on there."

"Thanks," Sherlock said. He looked at the attached card. _Seemed to suit you. Happy Christmas. John_

 

A few hours later, Lestrade came through the front door with a shout of "Father Christmas is here!" Mrs. Hudson led him up the stairs, laughing at Sherlock's mortified face.

"You're just lucky no one is over here I can embarrass you in front of," Lestrade said, chuckling at Sherlock. He frowned at the sound of the The Who album. "What are we listening to?"

"My husband left the record with me before they put him to death," Mrs. Hudson said. "John got sherlock a t-shirt with some of the lyrics on it, show him Sherlock."

Sherlock sighed and held it up. Lestrade laughed. "Interesting choice. "

"The music isn't bad," Sherlock said, "but I'd never heard of it before. Makes me want to mess around with the violin."

"Didn't know you played," Lestrade said, sounding impressed. "is that friend of yours, Bell, coming?"

Sherlock shook his head. "Wrote to us late last night. Some emergency came up."

"And on Christmas too," Mrs. Hudson sighed. "Horrible time of the year to be stuck in hospital." Sherlock nodded.

The three of them had Christmas dinner together; Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson with alcohol, Sherlock stuck with butterbeer. Not that he minded. He was warm and full and happy.

"Care for a walk?" he asked Lestrade, after the wizard had finished helping Mrs. Hudson clean up. Lestrade nodded. 

"Sure. There's some lights up on every street in London, seems like it."

"I'll stay in," Mrs. Hudson called. "Too cold, though the snow does look nice tonight."

Sherlock pulled on his heavy Gryffindor robe and scarf and followed Lestrade out the door.

"I spoke to Mycroft about your time away," Lestrade said somberly, as the pair set off down Baker Street. "Or rather, he contacted me." He looked at Sherlock seriously. "I can't believe he let you do that."

Sherlock shook his head, trying to squash bad memories. "There was nothing else that could have been done," he said. "I was already stuck in a place that faking a suicide would be believable. It worked out to--for the most part--play into Moriarty's hands."

"Next time let someone else handle it, me, or anyone else who thinks you being alive and safe is more important than winning a battle," Lestade said. Sherlock looked at him.

"Did you tell my brother that?" he asked curiously.

"I told him he's a fool for letting you be in so much danger over the summer." Lestrade huffed. "So what's all this about Milverton that you asked me?"

Sherlock shrugged. "We were asked to look into it by Dumbledore. As everyone keeps telling us that the terrorist stuff at the Ministry is dangerous, John and I thought it best to check which date would bring you and the aurors to the Ministry so we don't end up crossing paths." Sherlock shook off the guilt at blatantly lying to Lestrade after the man had just said all that.

"Friday night. You're planning on seeing Milverton at his office in the Ministry? Not in a more neutral place?" Lestrade frowned. "Dunno if that's the best course of action."

Sherlock shrugged. "It's worth a shot. No telling what will come of any of it, really." He looked at Lestrade. "Be safe when you go to arrest this Lord Moran guy. From what I'm hearing, he's trouble."

Lestrade nodded. "We'll have a team of aurors, and your brother said he'll show up to see it all through. If Moran tries to fight against all of us, he's gonna have a rough time."

That Friday, Sherlock lead John through the Ministry, John turning his head in every direction to get a good look. They finally stopped on an upper floor, at the start of a dark hallway.

"Milverton really agreed to meet you here this late?" John asked, looking at how dark the hall was.

"No." Sherlock looked at John. "I spent a long amount of time figuring out what habits Milverton keeps; he says until nearly midnight on Fridays, well after everyone has left. Good for him to get work done that others shouldn't see."

"Good for us to corner him, then," John added. Sherlock smiled.

They headed down the hall and slipped into Milverton's office carefully. The lights were on, but as John and Sherlock looked around, no one was there.

"Where--?" But John was silenced as Sherlock started at some quiet noise, and pulled him behind one of the larger potted plants against the windows.

"Someone is with him," Sherlock breathed into John's ear. He felt his heart pumping quickly, distracted by John being so close; oatmeal scent of his friend's hair filling his nose. Sherlock shook his head. Not now.

He and John both dropped their jaws in surprise as Milverton backed into the office at wandpoint. A moment later, Lady Smallwood followed him in, murder written all over her features.

"Please--" Milverton started to say, but Smallwood cut him off with a threatening flick of her wand. 

"If it was just me," Smallwood growled, "we wouldn't be here. But how many people, good people, did you decide to dig through the dirt to find out the worst about? And then to threaten them."

"It isn't my fault they make so much private," Milverton hissed.

"Enough!" Smallwood shouted. "Avada Kedavra!"

Sherlock felt himself flinch heavily as the green jet sprung from Smallwood's wand and hit Milverton. Sherlock's flinch had tilted the potted plant, making a thump, and John's hand clutched Sherlock's wrist in anxiety. As Milverton crumpled to the floor, dead, Smallwood looked their way, advancing to the plant, wand at the ready. Sherlock's heart hammered against his chest.

"You need to leave," Smallwood said, making fearful eye-contact with Sherlock and then John. Then she lowered her wand, slightly. "He deserved that. Whatever happens to me."

Sherlock met her eyes again, steeling his look as much as he can. He wouldn't give her away. He looked to John and saw the same look of understanding in his friend's eyes, and felt calmer. But his hands still trembled.

"Out, quickly." Smallwood gave them one last look before hurrying away.

John met Sherlock's gaze and the two started to make their way out of the ministry as quickly as they could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A+ time wise that The Seeker was released in the 70s and this series is set in the 80s. Thanks, the Who.


	10. Eventualities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Long overdue update.  
> Comments or criticism to how this one was written would be appreciated :)
> 
> As for the long waits between chapters, I'm currently working on a novel (isn't everyone?) I post updates about that on tumblr. Obviously working on something like that takes a lot of time and creative energy, so I'm trying my best to keep updating here when I find the time. I'll for sure see this series to its end, no matter how busy I become. :)

Sherlock and John made their way through the building, flushed with what they had scene.

"That was mental," John whispered, as Sherlock followed him down a flight of stairs, hoping that their shoes weren't making much sound. 

"Solved the problem easily," he muttered. "You got the same 30 seconds in the room with the man; he deserved it, yeah?"

"Yeah," John said firmly. 

"I don't hear Lestrade or anyone else," Sherlock said. "We need to figure out where they went to avoid--"

He and John jumped as a steady hand came down on one of each of their shoulders.

"Avoid who?" a low hiss asked. Sherlock swallowed, recognizing Lestrade's exhausted tone.

"Definitely not you, Lestrade," John said. "How've you been--?" 

"Shut up," Lestrade snapped lowly. "Mycroft Holmes is out front, along with our terrorist suspect and several aurors. He barely put up a fight. I'm expected to be heading out there before we all depart." He looked from Sherlock to John. "Well, supposed to be heading out there ALONE."

"Well, then, if you'll just let us go--" Sherlock started. Lestrade's grip grew slightly firmer. 

"You were there for Milverton," Lestrade said, beginning to walk with them toward the front of the building. "You're gonna tell me what happened so I know if he's gonna be a problem later for you both."

Sherlock blinked. 

He heard John sigh as they walked out the front, spotting Mycroft standing in the street, conversing with two people who must be aurors. Lord Moran stood in the center of the small crowd, a calm look on his face. He then looked over, spotting Lestrade, Sherlock, and John, and his brow furrowed. Sherlock turned back to Lestrade. "So he really didn't put up a fuss?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of green, then red light heading toward them and his breath caught in his throat. John was leaping out of the way, shouting in shock, and Sherlock stood rooted to the ground, the London street disappearing into trees of the forest he rushed through after his escape over the summer. His breath caught in a panic as Lestrade leapt on top of him, forcing him to the ground, the red jet clipping Lestrade's left arm. Pinned by the older man, Sherlock felt a soft shout tear from his lips and he thrashed away from Lestrade, as the man stood, left arm hanging limp at his side.

"WHO LET HIM HAVE HIS WAND?" Lestrade roared toward the gathering of aurors, who were restraining Lord Moran roughly. "WHO THE FUCK LET HIM HAVE A WAND?"

"Sherlock!" John called, sounding further away than Sherlock knew him to be. He breathed in and out, too quickly, trying to focus on the scent of the smog, the gasoline puddle left from a car a few feet from where he knelt. London night--

He flinched as Lestrade knelt before him, a firm hand back on Sherlock's right shoulder, this time grounding and comforting.

"Sherlock, it's Lestrade." His voice came strong and reassuring, rushing into Sherlock's brain, a glimpse of reality. "We're in London, alright? You're safe. Whatever happened back then, you're safe now. John and I, we're here now to keep you safe, alright?"

He forced his eyes open, locking gaze with Lestrade and trying to time his breathing with the older man's.

"Sherl--"

Lestrade's head spun to look Mycroft, who seemed to be heading two them. "He's FIFTEEN, fifteen bloody years old, Mycroft!" Lestrade shouted. Sherlock flinched slightly at the change in tone. Mycroft stopped in his tracks. "You're supposed to keep him safe!"

"Greg," John said softly, slowly touching a palm to Sherlock's back, reassuringly. "Maybe not yell until he's calmed down?"

"I'm right here..." Sherlock gasped, trying to even out his breathing. Lestrade turned back to him. "He's mad at Mycroft... not at me." He felt himself shake slightly.

"Damn right I am," Lestrade said, meeting Sherlock's eyes and smiling slightly. "Alright?"

Sherlock nodded, sucking in a large breath and letting it out evenly. He looked over to see Mycroft berating several aurors before the group disapperated. "Hell..." he muttered.

"Damn right," Lestrade said again, his voice thick with empathy. "First time someone tried to kill me, I couldn't sleep for a few days. And that was when I was 20. Can't imagine how this has been on you." He looked up at John and Sherlock. "I'm gonna take you both back to mine, and get ahold of Mrs H to say that you'll be staying the night. You both go home in this state and she'll be beside herself with worry."

Sherlock snorted softly. "You're smarter than you look, you know that?" John laughed softly at Lestrade's face.

"Well, if you're gonna be like that-"

John laughed again and Sherlock smiled faintly, a tremor still in his hands.

 

Lestrade sat them both down at his tiny table in the kitchen, magicking a kettle onto the stove and pulling out decaf tea. He still held his arm awkwardly, which made Sherlock frown whenever Lestrade moved, but Lestrade brushed off the concern. 

"Here, drink some of this," he said, plopping a mug of tea in front of both boys and leaving a bottle of honey in the middle of the table. "Out of sugar," he said apologetically. Sherlock shook his head. "I'll be right back, gonna get a message to Mrs. H."

Sherlock and John sipped their tea in silence for a few moments, Sherlock trying to ignore the fact that his hands were still shaky. He was lost in thought until one of John's hands covered his own on the handle of the mug, incasing his hand in further warmth. He looked at John.

"I'm sorry this shit happened tonight," John said softly. Sherlock smiled faintly before lapsing into a frown again.

"I should have said... it was a really rough summer." His voice caught and he closed his eyes, focusing on the warmth that the tea was giving him.

"Sherlock." He opened his eyes and looked at John. "You don't have to tell me anything until you're ready." Sherlock smiled softly.

"One fixed point, no matter what happens," he breathed, keeping eye contact with John. "Your acceptance, no matter how eventual." John smiled faintly. Sherlock decided he didn't want to think about things, or worry anymore. How much trouble could have, and nearly, separated the two of them before this? He leaned over and kissed John softly on the lips, before pulling away, face feeling far warmer than it did before.

"Christ, I thought we would never get to this point," John said softly, and copied the motion before Sherlock could reply, the second kiss longer than the first. They pulled apart gently, both slightly flushed, but smiling more than they had dared to in the past hour.

Sherlock smiled more as he heard a forced cough (John would probably believe it was genuine) as Lestrade entered the room, purposefully looking at a piece of parchment. He looked up at them.

"She's not worried, I'll drop you both off in the afternoon." He looked at Sherlock. "You both are taking the bedroom tonight, no couch for you this time."

"Fine, fine," Sherlock sighed.

"And..." Lestrade looked between them both. "Yeah... share the room but don't..." he trailed off, trying to word something.

"No hanky panky," John said solemnly, putting a hand over his heart. Sherlock snorted.

"Not that you would," Lestrade said. "Not that you're together--"

"Lestrade." Sherlock rolled his eyes. Lestrade smiled.

"Alright. Bed then, both of you. Tell me about Milverton in the morning."


	11. Sixteen

Sherlock awoke tangled in John's arms, feeling his sleepy breath on the back of his neck. He looked at the light coming in through Lestrade's room's windows and smiled. Then he turned over and shook John gently.

"Wake up, it smells like Lestrade can cook."

John grumbled, opening his eyes slowly. "Smells like bacon," John said yawning. Sherlock nodded. "Morning."

Sherlock grinned. "Morning, John."

They both rolled out of Lestrade's bed and got changed, slowly walking into the kitchen. Lestrade stood at the stove, gently poking at bacon and eggs in a pan.

"Happy birthday, Sherlock," Lestrade said softly. Sherlock blinked. He'd forgotten.

"Oh jeez, happy birthday," John said, looking to Sherlock.

"Mrs. Hudson told me last night," Lestrade said. "You never told me, I'd have gotten you something."

Sherlock shrugged. "Honestly, it's okay."

The three of them piled around Lestrade's kitchen table and began to eat breakfast. Lestrade pulled out the Daily Prophet and set it on the table. "You both know anything about this?" he asked, mouth slightly full.

Sherlock looked to the front page and froze for a moment. the headline "CHARLES MILVERTON MURDERED" was slapped on top of a large photo of the man's face. He skimmed the article below, relaxing slightly as he saw no signs of accusation.

"oh wow," John said. Lestrade rolled his eyes.

"You've become quite sassy, John, not sure it's growing on me." Lestrade looked Sherlock in the eye. "You were in his office last night. I'm pretty damn sure I know the pair of you well enough to assume you didn't murder him. But there's no way you snuck in there and didn't see something to do with this."

Sherlock sighed. "I can't tell you who did it. We hid behind a plant and he backed into the room. He was half pleading for his life, half owning up to being a blackmailer. Someone shot green light at him--the killing curse, obviously--and he died." 

Lestrade held Sherlock's gaze for several moments before nodding. "Fine. I'll probably be asked to work this one. Wish there was someway I can prove he was blackmailing."

"He might have dirt on people hidden somewhere," John said.

"Unless he memorized it all. Knowledge is power enough, just starting the rumor is even more dangerous."

Sherlock frowned. "At least he won't be threatening people anymore."

"Also," Lestrade looked to John. "Your broom on fire at the first Quidditch match, still nothing?"

John shook his head. "Even Dumbledore mentioned it to us but didn't seem to know."

Lestrade hesitated. "If you two had been investigating Milveton at the time..."

"What?" Sherlock asked. Lestrade frowned.

"He worked for some dangerous people, or so I gathered, let's leave it at that." He sat back, sighing. "If you two were more involved with his death, I'd be worried but..." He looked away. "I'm still worried, to be honest. Maybe that group got word that Sherlock took down Moriarty's gang..."

"And tried to hurt me instead of him?" John asked, incredulously.

"Lestrade," Sherlock said, "What group is it, exactly?"

"It's not too well-known, you just hear things every so often..." Lestrade bit his lip. "they're dangerous and have a tendency to take care of anyone who knows about them. I'm actually putting my Sergeant on asking Moran if he had any ties with them--"

There was a knock on the door. Lestrade frowned and stood. Sherlock and John watched him, curiously.

Lestrade opened the door and Sherlock stood as Rederick Bell and Mrs Hudson walked into Lestrade's home.

"Hello, Lestrade," Bell said happily. "We've only met the one time, sorry to drop by like this." Bell looked to Sherlock and smiled. "However, it's Sherlock's birthday and Mrs Hudson said he was here when I stopped at Baker Street."

Mrs Hudson and Lestrade hugged briefly, and then she looked Sherlock over. "Happy Birthday, Sherlock." Sherlock smiled.

Bell came over and embraced Sherlock carefully, fondly. "John, good to see you." 

John smiled. "It's been a while."

"That workload at Saint Mungos cleared up, then?" Lestrade asked, pouring Bell a cup of tea. Bell accepted it gratefully. Then Lestrade did the same for Mrs Hudson.

"Ah yeah. It's been a very busy week." He shook his head. "I read of that Lord Moran's arrest last night, I assume that's why you're holding your arm so stiffly."

Mrs. Hudson "tsked" and Lestrade laughed a little. "Some idiot let him grab his wand and I didn't react quickly enough." Lestrade looked to Sherlock. "Still in one piece, though."

Bell snorted. "Hope you fired the bastard. That's not so simple a mistake." He pulled out his wand. "Mind if I?"

Lestrade shook his head, taking off his sweatshirt so he was in a t-shirt. "Nah go ahead. Haven't been to have it looked at yet, we had a sleepover party."

Sherlock snorted, watching as Bell guided blue, glowing smoke to Lestrade's arm. he looked to John who was watching closely, a crease between his eyes.

"Sherlock," Bell said, not taking his eyes off his work, "I trust you're well and healed from the summer."

"Er-" Sherlock saw John flash a look of concern at him. "Yeah. It was bad for a couple of weeks but Mycroft's healer did good work when I got back."

"Not good enough to let you leave without finishing," Bell muttered, looking up to meet Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock made a face.

"I left and came here. Mycroft and I are on better terms now but I wasn't going to spend anymore time at his than I had to."

"How bad were you hurt over the summer?" John asked. "And were you still hurt when I hit you in Diagon Alley?"

Sherlock waved him off. "You're fine John--"

"Just tell me."

Sherlock sighed. "Yeah I was still hurt. My back and some ribs weren't in great shape." He shook his head. "I know by now how to take care of myself by now though."

"You shouldn't have to know that," Lestrade said lowly. Bell smiled bitterly. 

"At least you and Bell treat him well," Mrs Hudson said softly. "If anything happened to my boy, I'd have to hunt whoever was responsible down. And you'd look the other way, Lestrade."

Lestrade laughed. "We'd be there too, Mrs Hudson."

"Christ, I was ready to fillet your father, Sherlock, if Mycroft hadn't stepped in," Bell muttered. Sherlock looked down uncomfortably.

"Well," Mrs Hudson said, clearing her throat, "that's all over now." She put a hand on the back of Sherlock's neck, fondly, briefly, and he relaxed a little. "Change the topic; I'm sure that all has nothing but bad memories for Sherlock."

Sherlock found himself shaking his head. "No--I mean yeah, bad memories but..." He frowned. "But it's ok." He looked at Lestrade, who was frowning, and realized that outside of the Prophet article that had been printed last spring, the man knew nothing of Sherlock's parents. "The Prophet story that Moriarty gave had it right, my father was ... ah..."

"A monster," John said darkly. Something dark and sad flashed across Lestrade's face and John looked down, tension clear in his frame. Sherlock took John's hand in his own reassuringly. John smiled at him.

"Oh, that's new," Bell said, grinning at Sherlock.

"You didn't tell me," Mrs Hudson said, looking from Sherlock to John.

"New development, as of last night." Sherlock smirked at Lestrade. "Lestrade knew, though he pretended not too." Lestrade's face grew pink.

Mrs Hudson laughed. "John, how was your Christmas?" 

"Good," John said. "Harry was away so it was quiet."

"I hope my baking found you in one piece," Mrs Hudson said. "My owl is a little old."

"Yeah, they were great," John said, sounding thankful. Mrs Hudson beamed. 

Sherlock looked at the group, feeling like he did finally have a family, and that this was the best birthday he'd had in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see.   
> This takes place on Jan 6th (if you didn't know SH's birthdate)
> 
> Originally, this scene had no Mrs Hudson, but it felt like a disservice to leave her out since she's arguably the biggest part of most any Sherlock Holmes' family.  
> Sorry to Mycroft fans if he comes off as a bit of a jerk, but i feel like these two had a lot of issues to work out before they could get to how they were when Mycroft appeared in the Conan Doyle canon.
> 
> Other than that, this is about 2/3 of the way through Year Five. I have the ending planned, just a matter of getting motivation to work up to that.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading. Leave some comments, or kudos if you're enjoying so far.


	12. Exceptions to the Rule

"So Milvertone is dead," Dumbledore mused. "My question, Sherlock, is why are you so unwilling to tell me who it was?"

"Because Milverton deserved it," Sherlock said shortly.

Winter break had ended. Snow still covered the grounds, but the fifth years had little time to admire its beauty. OWLs would soon be approaching and many, like John, were in a flurry of studying. Sherlock felt he had better things to worry about than his grades. No matter how much John pressed him. He'd come to Dumbledore's appointment alone, leaving John to finish a paper for potions.

"You sound confident in that assertion." Dumbledore's eyes had always been piercing, but some days, moreso. Sherlock held the gaze.

"Is it because of Grindlewald that you were worried?"

The air in the room froze. A light smile preyed upon Dumbledore's lips. "If I had many more people half as perceptive as you, we would be able to win the fight against those who would wish to do us harm before they gained any traction."

"You're assuming I'm on the right side. I'm hoping it isn't because of my house, sir," Sherlock said, looking out the window.

"I'm assuming you will do the right things because it's what you've been striving to do for the past five years," Dumbledore met Sherlock's eyes. "Our choices say far more about us than anything else."

"Whoever killed Milverton is safely in hiding, and will probably stay that way," Sherlock muttered. "They intend to keep themselves safe. What they did will keep others safe." Sherlock looked at Dumbledore. "I supposed you heard that that threat of Mycroft's was caught the same night?" 

"Mycroft Holmes informed me that Moran got ahold of a wand, somehow, and injured Greg Lestrade in the process." Dumbledore's look darkened. "I heard you two were in the area, Mr Watson and you. We are lucky nothing more serious happened."

"Lestrade thinks the Moran man might be connected to something bigger." Sherlock watched Dumbledore carefully. "Something Milverton might have had ties to."

Dumbledore shrugged. "I think we should be cautious. There's always something bigger out there, isn't there?" 

"Something that might affect Hogwarts?"

"I think you have Transfiguration in seven minutes, Sherlock. You wouldn't want to be late." Dumbledore smiled, standing and gesturing to the door.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, standing and shouldering his bag. "Afternoon, Professor."

He mused as he headed down the grand staircase, about how much Dumbledore annoyed him. The man was kinder than most people, but the fact that he was constantly planning things and keeping information from people who only wanted to help--Sherlock slipped on a trap stair, blinking as he realized he'd done exactly the same to John the past 4 years.

Class was just starting as Sherlock slid into his seat, barely listening to McGonagall's lecture. He knew he would pass the Transfiguration OWL fairly well without much revision, but if the examiner was anything like mcgonagall, he would have to work a little harder.

"So what did Dumbledore say about Milverton and Moran?" John asked at dinner, piling his plate high with chicken and potatoes.

Sherlock sighed. "When does he ever say anything useful?" He looked over John's head. "Molly, this is the Gryffindor table."

"Screw it," Molly said, sitting behind him. "Sherlock, you have to look into our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."

"What's wrong with him?" John asked. "He seems nice, compared to a few of our past ones."

"I was supposed to meet him for a make up meeting and I heard someone shouting the spell for the Imperious Curse." Molly looked fearful and Sherlock swallowed. "I knocked and he came to the door a few seconds later; he seemed normal, but I could've sword I heard him shouting before."

"It's a forbidden curse, Molly, did you go to any of the teachers?"

Molly nodded. "They didn't find anything, told me I must have been hearing things." She looked at Sherlock. "I wasn't. But I don't want to go snooping around in his office or ask him anything funny. He might complain and I'd be in trouble for accusing a teacher of something, twice."

John looked at Sherlock. "How the hell are we supposed to break into a teacher's office?"

Sherlock blinked slowly. "I'm not sure." He thought to transfiguration, there had to be a way of becoming a fly, or something, to sneak into the office. "We can't become animagi, that takes ages." 

"And he's probably got his office charmed so students don't sneak in at night," Molly said. "I heard another student talking about it; someone tried to sneak into Flitwick's office once to fix a paper. All the professors have charms on their doors now."

"What about Polyjuice potion?" suggested John. "The downside is that it takes a month, but if we use that time to figure out how to get through his locked door, we could use the potion to become a couple of teachers and go in without him thinking anything of it if he catches us."

Molly and Sherlock looked at him, wide-eyed.

"Are you insane?" Sherlock asked. "What if we got caught?"

"What if we got caught doing anything less reliable?" John asked.

"Where are you going to make the potion?" Molly asked. "It's not like Snape is going to let you do that; that's NEWT level or above."

"And Murray isn't stupid enough to let a cauldron of polyjuice sit in our dormitory for a month," Sherlock said. 

"Why can't you talk to Snape?" John asked Sherlock. He deepened his voice, making Milly snort. "Professor, I'm so BORED by all this OWL level stuff, and I wondered if I could try something more difficult. I remembered reading about Polyjuice potions--"

"Shut up," Sherlock said, but a corner of his mouth turned up in a smile, betraying him.

 

"I don't give preferential treatment to students, Holmes. Least of all someone from outside my own house."

Sherlock looked away. "So what was my first year, when you gave me the space to recreate an explosive?"

Snape looked at Sherlock, thick brows furrowed. "You know perfectly well why that was an exception."

"It's not so different this time, maybe," Sherlock muttered. "And anyways, what if the sorting hat made a mistake, and I'm supposed to be in Slytherin?"

Snape let out a mirthless bark of laughter. "That old hat knows who we are. It doesn't make mistakes, Holmes." He looked at Sherlock. "If you were meant to be in Slytherin, you wouldn't be asking to make a potion to help anyone, or to get some practice at the NEWT level." Sherlock opened his mouth to reply and Snape cut him off. "In my office, evenings when I summon you. You are to come on your own, I don't want to see any sight of John Watson. Or any of your little friends. I am to be with you at all times. Understood?"

Sherlock nodded. He would have to find a way around Snape's requirements so he and John could take the potion, but he had a month to work on that. "Thank you, sir."

Snape nodded dismissively and Sherlock hurried out.

 

"We have to get something of the person we change into," John said, two weeks later, as the two of them sat in Defense Against the Dark Arts, waiting for class to start. "Who are you thinking?"

"Snape," said Sherlock. "It would probably be easiest."

John looked at him, disbelievingly. "No, it wouldn't."

"I'll just find a hair of his in his office or something." Sherlock shook his head. "Who were you thinking?"

"McGonagall." 

Sherlock laughed out loud, causing several people to stare at them. "You're serious?" he said.

John nodded. "Do you think it would work with some of her cat hair, or do you think that counts as an animal transformation?"

Sherlock tried to think of Mycroft naked to keep himself from shouting with laughter again. "you're mad."

"Absolutely," John said.

 

John caught up with him, four days later, a potions vial in his hand, seemingly empty. He handed it to Sherlock.

"What's this?" Sherlock looked inside, seeing a long, black hair. "You didn't--"

"I did," John said proudly. "Paid a first-year 10 sickles to knock her hat off on the stairs. I was gracious enough to pick it up for her."

Sherlock handed back the vial, grinning and then kissed John, swiftly. He pulled back, still not quite used to being romantic with John.

John grinned.

"That's brilliant," Sherlock said quickly. "The potion's nearly done. We should be able to get into Martin's office soon."

"You need a Snape hair," John pointed out.

"Yeah," Sherlock said. "And we need enough of the potion for two of us."

"We need to get into Snape's office, somehow, during class. It's the only time it'll be unlocked and he won't be in."

Sherlock thought for a moment. Then smiled. "We might not have to...."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How's it going?   
> If you've been reading this fic long-term, thanks for sticking with it (really, means alot).
> 
> I'm going to give a rough estimate of 3-4 chapters. Hold me to finishing this one this month. Comments are very very appreciated; they keep me motivated.

**Author's Note:**

> As had been built up in years 1-4, this piece in the series marks a pretty clear and definite departure from BBC Sherlock's plot. However the characters still draw influence from BBC and the ACD canon.  
> **UPDATES NOTE** (January 15, 2018): I've been really reluctant to admit that I haven't been "feeling" this fic in a while. The last post I made to the fic I felt really good about, and had plans to at least finish this part, year 5. But at the moment, my muse, I guess you could call it, is completely gone.   
> People who follow me on this account, not just this fic, will have noticed I've been a whole lot less active with BBC Sherlock fics since the series 4 finale last year--  
> I feel as of right now I've scraped the bottom of the jar for BBC Sherlock ideas. Or energy to finish ideas I once had. I'm currently working on fics in other fandoms and that's been great.  
> But anyways, if the mood strikes me again, I might update with this one. I still have my notes about the end of this, and the last two years at Hogwarts... It was a lot of fun to work on, and to have worked on a long series for so long. But (for now) it will be on indefinite hiatus.
> 
> Thanks for reading and all the support on this series :)


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